


The Green Light Of Dreams

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of A Game of Thrones set in the first chapter of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby.</p><p>  <em>“I suppose you know all about it?” Margaery sighed.</em></p><p>  <em>“I’ll wager he’s got some other woman?” Sandor replied, his anger well masked.</em></p><p> <em>Margaery’s gaze flickered to him. “She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”</em></p><p> <em>Sandor stared at the door as silence came over the house, wondering why the little bird had not flown this place of urgent whispered telephone calls and lonely echoes. </em></p><p> <em>The door burst open and Sansa walked into the room followed by Joffrey and they both sat back down. Sansa grabbed her glass and finished the rest of her wine before slamming it back down on the table. </em></p><p> <em>“Women are so dramatic,” Joffrey smirked, eyeing Sandor as if for a conformation, yet which was not given. “I’m going hunting tomorrow with some guys from the office; I can’t stand the wailing of women.”</em></p><p>  <em>“How gorgeous,” Sansa remarked dryly.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Green Light Of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been in my head for quite some time now and I was itching to write it out in full. I thought it would be interesting to play around with the dinner table scene considering there are a few parallels with the two novels.  
> The characters are a mixture of themselves in The Great Gatsby and A Game of Thrones so they will be a bit different!

Sandor Clegane walked past rows and rows of gorgeous mansions with spiralling hedges and lit up fountains. He felt uncomfortable here with his battered old suit and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. This was not somewhere he wanted to be; it stunk of that careless quality that the rich and upper class held. But he had a reason to be in this neighbourhood. 

That evening he was visiting his old boss whose name was Joffrey Baratheon and although Sandor despised the man he wanted to check up on him and his wife, Sansa. Sansa Stark was the most beautiful creature Sandor had ever seen. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on her all those years ago. Joffrey’s business was family run and before the company had been in his hands it belonged to his father, Robert. Sandor had been accompanying Joffrey as his bodyguard to visit Sansa’s father, who also run a large business, and he and Robert were firm friends. Sansa was waiting in the lounge to introduce herself, having heard of Joffrey’s charm and good looks. She had the most gorgeous coloured hair; long, thick locks of a rich auburn that shone gold in the light and tranquil blue eyes; an oasis in a desert of white sand.

Sansa had been, as most were, afraid of Sandor upon their first meeting with his height and build bigger than any man she’d ever seen and his scars were a fearsome thing to behold; burned flesh and knotted red veins crawled across one side of his face. However she played her courtesies well and was polite towards him, if a little strained. 

Over the years she and Joffrey became closer and closer and one day they married. Sansa was all smiles and laughter on the day but Sandor knew that behind locked doors, Joffrey’s good nature withered like a flower in winter and he was cruel to her and often beat her. Yet she could do nothing; her family were far away, they knew nothing of her suffering, and the power of the Lannister family meant even the police were under their control. She had nowhere to go, like a little bird trapped in a cage. Sandor had often tried to intervene whenever Joffrey was pushing it too far, particularly on one occasion when Joffrey had shoved her head against a wall, grabbing her by her hair. Sandor had grown to feel protective over the little bird, anxious for those fearful blue eyes and shaking bones.

Yet after their marriage Joffrey and Sansa moved out of the city and into the outskirts where the houses were big and the grass was cropped. Sandor had not seen the little bird for years and often worried about her being in a house with no one but Joffrey and their servants, so when Joffrey had invited him for dinner Sandor had jumped at the chance.  
The sky was a deep summer blue as Sandor approached their house; one of the biggest in the neighbourhood. He took a deep breath as the black gates in front opened before him. Joffrey came out of the house, appearing older than the last time Sandor had seen him yet still wearing that smug expression he wore so well. 

“Clegane!” Joffrey grinned. “Tell me you’re not impressed?”

Sandor came to stand beside Joffrey and looked up at the house giving a satisfactory nod, trying to appear interested. Joffrey put his hand on Sandor’s back to guide him into the house, despite Sandor’s polite attempt to shake him off.

He was taken through a labyrinth of rich red walls adorned with golden frames and ornaments. Their footsteps echoed around the giant rooms and the servants walked past unnoticed, as if they were a part of the furniture.

Finally they came to a bright room filled with light shining from a chandelier and peels of laughter came from behind the cream coloured sofa. Sandor’s heart warmed at the sound as he realised one of the voices belonged to Sansa.

“Sansa, sit up for god sake,” Joffrey hissed, standing beside Sandor.

A face slowly rose from the sofa and she propped it up on her arm. Her hair was the same colour as before, yet it had been cut shorter so it rested just below her ears. Even with her delicate pale arms and fingers, Sansa seemed so much older than Joffrey in that moment, wiser almost. Her indigo eyes were tired and each movement was slow and deliberate, as though she were exhausted by life itself, slowed down in the current like a lost boat out at sea. 

But Sansa eyed Sandor and a slow smile spread across her face, a flickering light in her eyes.

“Do they miss me in King’s Landing?” She asked in a mischievous voice.

Sandor’s lips twitched in a slight smile, appearing to most as a smirk, yet Sansa knew it to be a sign of amusement.

“Of course,” he rasped.

Sansa laughed and held out a delicate hand for Sandor to take, which he did, giving it a little squeeze.

“It’s good to see you again, old friend,” Sansa whispered.

“Likewise, little bird,” Sandor murmured.

The sound of her nickname was like putting on an old favourite sweater and the feeling kindled a warm smile from Sansa.

There was something about Sansa that whispered excitedly of promises and dreams, as though she could bring happiness to anyone who made her smile. But that was the catch; Sansa had made her life in a nest of feather masks and jewels, never letting anyone see the real her since her marriage to Joffrey. Her courtesies and manners were her shield, her mask was her armour. Keeping her cool meant keeping her arms free of bruises, but it meant that many people did not see the little girl curled up inside that nest. Sandor, on the other hand, had seen that girl; seen her in a flash of fearful blue eyes, seen her in a crumpled heap on the ground, and he saw her now as the smile died from her eyes and she let her hand slide from his as Joffrey came closer into the room.

“Would you like to see the baby? She’s ever so well behaved, such a charming little thing,” Sansa said quickly.

“Clegane’s not interested in seeing the baby, Sansa, so just be quiet and sit nicely,” Joffrey drawled.

At that point, the other figure on the sofa sat up and frowned at Joffrey. She had long brown hair that spun down to her waist and blue eyes, darker than Sansa’s.

“It is so dreary in here, Sansa we must go to the city and have some fun!” The girl said, stretching.

“Margaery, an old friend has come such a long way to see us and you want to go elsewhere? You know we can’t!” Sansa giggled, taking her friend’s hands. 

Then, one of the servers entered the room quickly as if moving on a wire and announced that dinner was served. The group made their way to the dining hall where they took their seats as the feast was brought out to them. The conversations were fairly dull but sprinkled with laughter from Margaery yet with the occasional dry remark from Sansa and glare from Joffrey. Sandor found the whole thing too quickly paced and the false smiles tired him, so he simply stayed out of the talk and contented himself to watch.

“I hear the flowers in High Garden are wonderful this time of year,” Sansa remarked to Margaery.

“Yes, you really must come and visit soon, I know the sun will do you some good,” her friend replied.

Joffrey stared at Sansa then smiled curtly at Margaery. “Sansa is very busy at the moment, what with the baby and all. She won’t be visiting High Garden for some time,” he replied.

Sansa kept her eyes lowered to her plate while her husband spoke. She seemed so lifeless in that moment, like a puppet slumped against a wall. 

“Someday I shall,” Sansa said with a faint smile, her eyes drifting up to Margaery.

At that moment the phone rang from another room and Sansa’s posture sharpened, staying completely still. Joffrey leaned back casually from the table and walked out of the room to answer the phone. Sansa remained frozen for several moments until her head snapped up to look at Sandor. 

“It is wonderful to see you at my table, are you enjoying your visit, Sandor?”

Sandor gave her a levelled gaze, sensing her tension. He cleared his throat. “Very pleasant.”

Sansa’s gaze turned to the door and she pulled her chair out sharply, leaving the room to follow Joffrey. As an argument began to spiral into creation from beyond the door, Margaery sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“I suppose you know all about it?” She sighed.

“I’ll wager he’s got some other woman?” Sandor replied, his anger well masked.

Margaery’s gaze flickered to him. “She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”

Sandor stared at the door as silence came over the house, wondering why the little bird had not flown this place of urgent whispered telephone calls and lonely echoes. But the door burst open and Sansa walked into the room followed by Joffrey and they both sat back down. Sansa grabbed her glass and finished the rest of her wine before slamming it back down on the table. 

“Women are so dramatic,” Joffrey smirked, eyeing Sandor as if for a conformation, yet which was not given. “I’m going hunting tomorrow with some guys from the office; I can’t stand the wailing of women.”

“How gorgeous,” Sansa remarked dryly.

But suddenly the shrill ring of the telephone sounded again. Sansa locked eyes with Joffrey and ever so slightly shook her head, a silent plea, but he glared right back and strode out of the room. Margaery raised her eyebrows.

“I’m going to read on the sofa, I cannot sit here a moment longer,” she sighed, standing up.

Sansa gave a small nod. 

Once Margaery left the room, Sansa turned to Sandor. “Walk with me, will you?”

Outside the cool night air was a welcome change to the tense atmosphere inside the house. The garden was lit up by stars and Sansa took Sandor’s arm as they walked towards a tall, white iron gazebo, seeming to Sandor like a large bird cage. They sat beneath it and looked out across the dark bay.

“I’ve had a very bad time, Sandor, I’m pretty cynical about everything,” Sansa sighed. 

“I know, little bird.” 

She looked at him, smiling sadly, the sleeves of her cream dress fluttering in the breeze, revealing a large purple bruise on her arm. Anger was obviously apparent on Sandor’s face because Sansa quickly rubbed it self-consciously.

“He didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident,” she said quickly from behind a masked face.

But Sandor took her hand in his, reminding her that he could see past even the most beautiful of her masks even when no one else could. 

All tension in Sansa’s body left, leaving her posture slightly drooped. “Sometimes I wish I were a fool. I wish I could pull all the sorrow and anger from my mind and fold it up behind a smile, but I can’t anymore. Not like I used to as a child. I’ve seen the world for what it truly is; I think everything’s terrible anyhow.”

Sansa paused, a vacant look creeping across her face as she stared out across the water, haunted by monsters that crept in the dark waters, unseen.

“But my daughter is wonderful. Well, I suppose she talks and eats and everything,” Sansa murmured. “She had been in this world just an hour, Joffrey was god knows where, and I woke up with a terribly abandoned feeling, as if I had been robbed of something beautiful somehow. I asked the nurse if it was a boy or a girl, she said it was a girl and I wept. Alright, I said, I’m glad it’s a girl and I hope she’ll be a fool. That’s the best thing a girl in this world can be, a beautiful little fool.”

A sudden wave of melancholy fell upon the face of Sansa Stark as if she had washed up the fiercest and most powerful desires of her heart in her next sentence. 

“All the bright precious things fade so fast,” she whispered to the stars. “And they don’t come back.”


End file.
